Life Begins Again and Again: Seeing the Good in Depression

“The words spirit and inspire both derive from the Latin word spirare which literally means to breathe. These emotional highs and lows that we experience are just the natural breathing process of our spirits.”  The Rev. Marcy Ellen, author of The Soul Truth: Reflections for the Waking Soul Yesterday I wrote about what depression feels…

{Chasing the Light}

Writing about sobriety puts a pit in my stomach today. I am sober but many days this doesn’t by implication mean happy.  Getting dry isn’t a formula for bliss.  It is only a pathway toward discovery. When I was a drunk I didn’t feel sensation – there was mostly emptiness.  I didn’t feel the ache…

The Tale that Cautions: I was a Drunk

I write down words. I was a drunk. It hurts still, the heavy story bulges in my heart. Knowing it’s true, that’s one thing. Going back to the vomit and need and empty ache the desperation sits heavy with me again all day. But in writing comes a slow redemption. My words are a gift:…

A Bad Poem About My Sobriety

SOBER. Antonyms: alcoholic, drinker, drunk, lush, souse, wino I’m Sober today. But I’m clutching at it. And not contentedly. Control is an illusion. I’m powerless, that I can confess. Today, when the whole thing, my duct-taped heart, feels like it’s falling apart and I’m heart racing tired, knowing I should never get.this.way. I think, “If I could I’d smoke then, … What?” But the broken down lungs no longer cooperate. I want…

Free To Love One Another or Afraid to be Free?

“if you loved me you’d let me die…” I went with a reluctant, heavy expectation to the Maundy Thursday service. My child’s words ringing in my ears.  My need was great. It hit me, sitting there.  I was in the middle of the Community of God, but felt utterly alone.  And it was all my fault. For I have…

The Writing Life, the Power of Voice

Life is pathways that become our Story; where we meet the Holy One and God renews us.  These realities run parallel to one another, making life unbelievably complex. I am a woman, a mother, daughter, and sister while being a life-partner and friend.  And I’m a writer, a creative photographer, a poet, bringing logic and imagination…

Calm Down and Breathe

I’ve learned something profoundly important about myself.  I thrive off difficulties. It’s a tendency of addictive persons. And though it’s not all bad to have this penchant, it can be bad.  There’s good too, to be into problem solving, endlessly considering three steps ahead, to be that type of person that is wondering about the…

[I Asked God for More] than Motherhood

I woke up on Sunday full of lament. The depression that had been crushing me was now a throttling choke. I woke up straining. Strangled and gasping for air, for truth, for relief; I woke up. I woke up on Sunday already giving up. Begging for it, the answer to the question depression always asks:…

All is Grace, Part One: the Story of Sober Me

Have I turned any other direction but to sit with my pain? No saint here, bound and praying. I couldn’t quit all the vices, they were many, without God’s quiet stillness ushered in. A moment of need and prostrate humbled, obviously being a fallen down drunk, I opened. In later years, when life wasn’t still,…

{Ten Thousand Tears}

My tears are welcome. I see them splattered, dried on my glasses as I peer out the window into the wintry, cold, gray, foggy morning; tiny specks on the panes of my eyeglasses. I wipe hard at these dried salty witnesses. They are a record of my sodden heart. Ten thousand tears come raining down. The soil of…

What If All Your Life You Believed A Lie? You Are Too Broken.

The morning air is all awash with angels …  – Richard Wilbur You cannot unbreak a broken stick. This morning, I awoke to a sense of life’s forfeiture.  I am broken. I’ve lived half my life, if my mother is to be believed I’m only in my middle years, as if I am a broken stick;…